Stones so rotten, clothed in moss, slipping from their concaves
Lathered in the muck and muddy water, the darkness a ruse
My screams bounce off the bend as I bang and I bruise
He let down a rope woven in thorns and reason
That all suffering stems from the decay of seeds unsewn
The piercing of my skin washed and adorned
With the blood that seeps from my wounds made clean
For His lashed and battered flesh from His back team most bare
Abetting closer to the breach of comfort by His all-knowing care
To above all bind my sin with the whips and chains He beared and abided
So to free us all from the stare of the mire -
To free us all from the snare of hellfire.